


coffee mornings and hopeless musings

by ErinNovelist



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 05:10:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13474356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinNovelist/pseuds/ErinNovelist
Summary: Shiro meets Allura in a coffee shop and swears it's love at first sight.





	coffee mornings and hopeless musings

_a gift for[creativeoptimist7](http://creativeoptimist7.tumblr.com/)_

**coffee mornings and hopeless musings**

i.

 

Shiro doesn’t necessarily believe in love at first sight.

There’s a difference between immediate attraction and a promise, which love encompasses both, so the idea that he can look at someone and _know_ that they’re going to be important to him someday is _unfathomable_. How could you put so much into a single glance, a glimpse you catch in the corner of your eye, in the shadow of your bangs when you turn your head? 

It isn’t until the girl in front of him pauses, tilting her head to the side, and says, “Hello,” that his entire belief system is threatened. 

Because there’s a short moment, the span of a single heartbeat, where he stares at her and can see everything. It’s in her long, white hair swept up into a messy bun, the hard blue eyes that soften when she smiles, her accented voice that sounds like lullabies. This customer is beautiful—almost ethereal—and all Shiro wants to do is stare at her for the rest of his life.

“W-Welcome to the Galaxy Garrison, the best coffee on this side of the universe.” He flashes her a shaky smile, a warm flush blossoming across his cheeks. “What can I get you today?” 

“Tall black,” she recites without looking, already digging out her wallet for her card.

Shiro rings up the order, taking her card between his fingers, and he swears his heart momentarily stops when their skin brushes. He hopes she can’t feel his pulse stuttering, can’t hear the way his breath catches. He can’t help it—there’s just something about her, in the way holds herself, that tells him she’s someone remarkable.

“So,” she says suddenly, breaking through his silent musings. “Is that line rehearsed, or is that something you can say through prior experience?” 

“Excuse me?” he asks, unable to process her questions. His mind burned up all its fuel when she walked into the room, and his breath left him like the lingering gas fumes in a dying car. It wasn’t pleasant, the punched-in-the-gut sensation. An engine that would never turn over, the brakes that would never work.

The girl only shakes her head, chuckling all the while. “I meant, is your tagline rehearsed, or is the coffee here really that good?”

Shiro’s dumbstruck. “It’s not _bad,_ ” he says, voice trailing off with uncertainty.

“Well, I hope not.” Her shoulders shake with barely restrained laughter, her smile only growing wider. “But I’ve been impressed every time I’ve come in here before, so I hope those times weren’t just a fluke.”

 “You’ve been here before?” Shiro asks as he turns back to the machines behind him, brewing her drink with practiced movements. 

“I come in here occasionally,” she murmurs, voice soft behind him. “But it’s usually in the morning.”

“The afternoon is the best,” is all he offers as he snaps the lid on her coffee.

 He pauses when he sees the sharpie on the counter beside him, wondering if he should write her name, even if she’s the only customer at the counter. (And then he realizes, he doesn’t even _know_ her name, because it’s two PM and she’s struck him dumb.) At two in the afternoon, the coffee shop is usually deserted aside from college students or meandering passersbys who are drawn in by the blistery conditions outside. The woman is an oddity to see at the Galaxy Garrison, but it’s one that Shiro most welcomes. 

Instead, he decides to doodle her a flower—one of the juniberry plants that Iverson keeps in the shop—on the side of the cup. It’ll have to do for now, and he hopes the picture makes her smile.

“Either time is good,” she comments, tilting her head slightly as he wordlessly hands her the drink. She doesn’t say anything about his doodle—perhaps she doesn’t even see it. “Coffee’s always good, the baristas make me smile...”

“I’ll be sure to extend the sentiment,” Shiro assures her. “Though I didn’t catch your name…”

“Allura,” she supplies, eyes glittering. “You can call me Allura." 

“You can call me Shiro,” he tells her.

She nods towards his name tag. “I already picked up on that.” 

“Oh,” Shiro says, and it feels like a lifetime of embarrassment has settled on his shoulders. _Of course_ , she looks at his name tag. “I-I guess I’ll see you around, Allura?” His comment comes off as more of a hopeful question that a surety.

Allura only laughs. “Sounds like a plan.”

As she turns to leave the coffee shop, Shiro is sure of one thing: he’s _screwed_.

He may not believe in love at first sight, but whatever _this_ is, it definitely comes close.

 

 

 

ii.

 

The mid-day rush has stemmed, leaving tracks where people with salt-stained shoes slipped across the floor on their way inside the coffee shop. Mop in hand, Shiro scrubs at the ugly orange tile with a resolute expression, wishing he could be anywhere else. The coffee shop has never been his destination, only a pit stop on his path to greatness, but as of late, he’s hit a pothole and must fix a tire before he can continue. 

Only he has no jack, no manual, no spare. Just the long, lonely nights and static, stormy mornings of a day that never ends—only repeats.

Basically, Shiro’s stuck, and he doesn’t know what to do.

But things have a tendency of changing for him: things happening when he least expects, people coming into his life when he needs them most. It’s this job that fell into his lap when he needed it the moment, it’s Keith who had a guest room in his apartment and gave him a place to stay, it’s his friends who come by every day and give him a reason to wake up.

It’s Allura, who’s stopped by this afternoon—as she has every day, for the last two weeks—who greets him with a bright smile and brings his world to a thundering halt.

“W-Welcome to the Galaxy Garrison, the best coffee on this side of the universe.” He stumbles over his words, breath catching in his throat. His heart pounds against his ribs like a caged animal, desperate to be heard, though he swallows it down. 

Shiro doesn’t understand why he reacts this way. He can’t help it. She’s just so… _beautiful._  

“Do you have Galaxy Garrison’s on the Mars settlement?” Allura asks him, not even heading towards the counter where Lance and Keith are practicing their latté art.

The question startles him. “Actually, we d-do. It’s—”

Allura shakes her head, chuckling lightly. “Don’t worry, I don’t actually care, I was just testing you.”

By now, they’ve slipped into a familiar routine, where they both dance the same steps, but neither makes a move to dance together. Shiro’s comfortable with this, still trying to learn the steps as he fumbles across the floor, but he thinks Allura’s already a master at this. 

“So what can I get for you today?” Shiro asks as he turns around, leaning the mop against the bucket. “We have this new chocolate raspberry thing—”

Everything happens too fast: he hears a sharp gasp as Allura goes to follow, sees her heel slip in a puddle of water, and then he’s lunging forward, arms wrapping around her waist, before she has a chance to fall.

There’s silence between them as the rest of the coffee shop fades out, until it’s only her soft, quiet shock and his wild heart. His ribs tighten their hold on his heart and tries to cage it further. It’s relentless in its fury as it pounds and pounds, so hard against the bare bone it hurts. 

“Are you alright?” he asks softly.

Allura only blinks up at him. “I-I think so?” She doesn’t sound too sure, but then again, everything’s so shaky, and Shiro isn’t quite sure about anything either.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he says instead, staring at the mop bucket as if it had personally offended him. “I should’ve been more careful. I didn’t mean—”

Allura’s eyes are still wide as she stares at him, a wrinkle between her brow. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I should’ve noticed the water. It’s quite alright, I promise.”

He looks down at her, doubtful. “You sure?”

“You caught me,” she tells him. “Of course I am.”

Shiro blushes hard, a deep pink dusting the apples of his cheeks, and he can only mutter some incoherent statement, lost in the sight that’s unfolded. Allura’s in his arms, skin warm against his, like the brush of a flame he’s wandered too close to, but still far enough to avoid the burn. Her eyes are bright like the silver light from the afternoon sun streaming into the shop. She’s so beautiful—everything about her—that he has no sense to turn away.

It isn’t until Lance has strolled over, clapping a hand on his shoulder, and says, “You can let go of the Princess now, Shiro,” that he’s pulling away and setting Allura back on her feet.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes again. He glances at her, up and down, until he’s certain she’s alright.

“It’s okay, really,” she says in reply, a soft smile stretching across her face. “Nothing’s broken. How about you though? Not hurt?”

And in that moment, Shiro knows he’s a goner.

“I’m fine,” he tells her, and turns back to the counter before he can lose it in front of her. “Drink’s on the house today.” 

She follows with a laugh, arguing back and murmuring something about the chocolate raspberry coffee he’d been so intent on showing her before. The ghost of her body against his chest feels heavy, and he wishes—more than anything—that he could have that feeling back.

He wonders if this is what love feels like.

 

 

 

iii.

 

It’s late when Allura comes in, ten minutes before closing time, and Shiro is the only one in. Keith left early due to the flu that has swept through the city, and Shiro volunteers to cover both of their shifts so that the other man can go home and try to rest. He expects that his roommate would miss his shift tomorrow, so he anticipates a long week of overtime. 

The rain is pouring hard outside, the coffee shop deserted, and the sleet glazes ice over the windows in front. Shiro watches the droplets trickle down, some catching on the frost patterns. There’s a certain beauty, he finds, to winter’s painting, like it can still feel even when frozen. 

It’s something he’s wondered about since he returned from his tour overseas—how somedays he can still be here even though he feels gone inside. Luckily though, time is making its mark on the scarred man, and it chisels away at him, leaving cracks and dips in his shell that prove he still exists, beautiful when broken.

The little bell above the door rings through the shop like a bullet, loud and sudden. It makes Shiro jump in surprise, clearly not having expected anyone.

It’s Allura. 

She’s stands before him, dripping wet with lips pressed in a thin line. She doesn’t say a word, and Shiro finds that she doesn’t have to. He recognizes the look in her eyes, that haunted glaze that never fully goes away. He’s seen it more times in the mirror in the middle of the night than he cares to admit.

“Long day?” he asks without stuttering. It’s been nearly a month since he first met the woman and now finds it easy to talk to her, like breathing. She’s become someone familiar to him.

Allura doesn’t respond immediately, simply staring at him. “I…” She takes a deep breath, gaze falling to her clasped hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

Water falls onto the tile floor around her, _plip plop plip plop_. Wordlessly, Shiro ducks under the counter, grabs a few towels, and walks towards her, handing them over with a small smile. “I understand,” he tells her, gesturing for her to sit down in a chair.

“I was just walking, and I…” Allura bites her lip, wiping her skin and jacket down. “I wasn’t really sure where I was going, I just kept walking.”

 Shiro knows the feelings: lonely nights when you feel lost. It’s when he seeks out Keith’s company and they talk for hours, until Shiro can lose himself in familiarity and family, until the nightmares and bad memories have passed. He wonders what ghosts haunt Allura. It’s funny because she never seemed like the type. 

But then again: does anyone?

The minutes tick by until the coffee shop has been cleaned, stairs stacked, and Shiro is close to locking up for the night. Allura is still sitting by the window, a towel running through her damp curls, eyes lost on the rain outside. Shiro pauses beside her, jacket on and beanie shoved over his head. He fingers the metal keys in his hands.

“You ready?” he asks her, though he’s not sure what for.

In the month since they’ve known each other, they’ve grown close. He knows that she works in the glass building a few blocks north, the one that looks like it’s made of diamonds. He knows that she’s an only child and lost her mother at a young age. He knows that she loves to write and ski, how she loves the taste of blueberries and yogurt, and how juniberries are her favorite flower. He knows her favorite color is pink, how she takes her coffee, how she’s barely away in the morning, and how she barely takes a break from her job. 

She knows about him too. She knows he served for four years in a war that shows in more ways than one, and how he’s only working in the coffee shop to pass the time. She knows he lives with Keith, an old friend and old flame, but still one of the most important people to him. She knows he’s friends with the rest of the baristas in the shop, and how Hunk, Lance, Pidge and Keith have saved his life in more ways than one. She knows he takes him coffee with a crazy amount of creamer, knows that the port of his prosthesis hurts when it’s cold, and knows that he can play guitar. She knows he wants to study aviation, wants to fly again someday, and wants to change the world. 

It’s everything and nothing, all at once, but it’s still not enough to answer his question.

“Where you headed?” he asks Allura, cocking his head to the side.

She’s quiet for a moment, seeming to ponder his words. “I don’t know,” she tells him honestly, shrugging. “I just went wherever my feet took me.” Laughing to herself, she shakes her head with a cynical smile. “That sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

“No,” he tells her because he _knows_.

There’s silence for another moment, and then Shiro’s sighing. “Listen, I live a few blocks from here. Do you want to come over? You could…” Her eyes grow wide, and he blushes hard, backtracking with that same fucking stammer from weeks ago. “No, no, I meant… I mean that you… Just to dry off, get warm. You just…”

She’s laughing, finally. The sound is like a lullaby he could fall asleep too, his favorite song on the radio, something he could listen to forever and never get tired of hearing.

“I’d.. I’d like that,” she says.

 And that’s it. 

They go to his apartment, where Keith is already asleep, and sit on the couch to watch some movie that will help them forget about their own personal horrors that play behind closed lids in the middle of the night. Of all the things he _does_ know about Allura, there’s still things he doesn’t. He doesn’t know her stories, and she doesn’t know his. But with time, he wonders, if someday they might.

Hours later, she’s asleep next to him, head on his shoulder. 

In the morning, they exchange numbers because that’s what friends do.

Shiro is certain of what love is now.

It’s _her_.

 

 

iv. 

Allura comes over at the end of his afternoon shift, right when five o’clock rolls around. With a coffee in hand, they make the short trek to his apartment and lose themselves in movies or video games, long talks or quirky banter, sometimes even going out bowling or to dinner. 

Lance swears they’re dating, Pidge says they’re practically married, Hunk encourages him to take his time, and Keith just tells him that they’re in love.

Shiro’s not stupid. He knows he loves her.

He doesn’t know if she feels the same way though, and he can’t just ask her. He’s too scared.

The next day it’s a Thursday night, and Keith is hanging out with Hunk and Lance, so Shiro has the apartment to himself. Everything smells like bacon and butter as Allura stands over his oven, cooking some heavenly dish in a pan because she’s horrified that Shiro can’t cook anything other than poison. She’s laughing about something that happened between her and a coworker, and Shiro just wants to listen to her laugh.

“Are you seeing someone?” he asks suddenly, the question falling from his lips before he has a chance to stop it. 

Allura pauses, the spatula poised above the omelet. She doesn’t say anything, and Shiro’s blush comes back, the tips of his ears burning. He wishes he could take the words back, smoke out the emotions and implications behind them before the flames gain substance.

“No,” she says after a while, just a simple denial. 

He knows he should stop that train of thought, turn back while he still can. But suddenly he’s tired of giving in too easily and wants to know if he can be selfish for a change. “Do you _want_ to see someone?” he asks her. 

There’s silence again before Allura turns around, stares at him for a short moment, and presses forward.

There’s warm hands against the skin of his neck, thumbs tracing his jaw bone like he’s the most precious thing to her right now. “I thought I was seeing _you_.” 

She kisses him then—kisses him hard. It’s wet, messy, and rough, but he knows they’ve both been waiting a long time for it, so nothing else matters. Shiro shifts and tilts his head, slotting his lips against hers and kisses back. There’s teeth and tongue, hot touches against heated skin, and his fingers rub against the apple of her cheeks. He can feel the rush of blood under his thumbs, reminding him that this is real and she’s here, and he can only smile into the kiss.

When they finally pull away, he wonders if the press of her lips is visible like another scar, evidence that this happened.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a very long time,” she tells him. 

“Good,” he says in response. “I have too.”

“Just in case it wasn’t clear.” Allura’s eyes are sparkling as she smiles. “I really like you.” 

Shiro’s shoulders shake with barely restrained laughter. “I’ve liked you for a long, long time.” 

 _I’ve been in love with you for a long, long time_ , he thinks.

But that’s a story for another day.

 

 

 

v.

 

The next morning comes with Allura at his kitchen table dressed in one of his night shirts, eating leftover Chinese food from a carton after they kept kissing against the counter, not noticing the burning omelet until it was too late. Her sweat-tangled curls are piled in a messy bun, eyes half-lidded with the ghost of sleep, and she looks as beautiful as the first time he saw her.

This, he knows, is what love is.


End file.
